


Giving the Game Away

by poisonivory



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4815212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You weren't supposed to fall in <i>love</i> with him, dumbass." Stick pays a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving the Game Away

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this great prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/4501.html?thread=9060757#cmt9060757) on the kinkmeme.
> 
> TW for light suicidal ideation. I promise there's a happy ending!

[1]

As they walk up the stairs to Matt’s apartment, Foggy’s telling some story about watching a grandma get into a fight with a busker playing the tuba on the subway, and Matt’s laughing so hard that he doesn’t hear it until too late.

“‘Listen here, Tuba Man - ’ she kept calling him ‘Tuba Man’ like that was his superhero name - ‘listen here, Tuba Man, I didn’t live to be ninety-three to hear someone butcher ‘I Got Rhythm,’ so you can just - ” Foggy finally notices that Matt’s gone still and alert. “Matt? What’s wrong?”

“You need to go.”

“What?” Foggy’s heartbeat ratchets up, and there’s the first whiff of anxious pheromones, of sweat. “Why?”

“Foggy, please, just...I swear I’ll tell you tomorrow, but right now you need to leave.” What’s about to happen is sure to be bad enough without Foggy getting involved.

He senses Foggy’s head swiveling towards the door. “There’s someone in your apartment, isn’t there.” Matt’s silent. “Matt, come on! I’m not letting you face them alone. They’re breaking and entering, we can call Brett, we can - ”

“Foggy, it’s _fine_.” Matt feels a little hysterical. “I can deal with him. Please, just listen to me this once and - ”

“I’m not leaving you, Matt!”

Footsteps. It’s too late.

The door swings open. “So this is your better half, huh?” Stick tilts his head, appraising them. “I thought I told you you didn’t need a guide dog, Matty.”

Matt feels Foggy bristle next to him. “Who the fuck are _you?_ ”

Matt moves a half-step in front of Foggy. He doesn’t _think_ Stick will go after him, but better safe than sorry. He’s still not sure how he feels about Stick, but he’ll tear him apart if he touches Foggy.

“I thought I told you to stay out of my city,” he says, his voice even and low.

“Now is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Foggy’s watching this like a tennis match, and Matt hears the hitched breath as he realizes. “You’re...you’re him. The ninja asshole. Tree, or whatever.”

“Foggy…” Matt growls. Stick’s _probably_ not going to go after Foggy, but that doesn’t mean he should antagonize him.

“What? This douchebag has to pick on little kids to get his jollies. I’m not scared of him.” Foggy’s not lying, Matt realizes. He’s practically vibrating behind Matt, but it’s not with fear. It’s with _fury_.

“Gave him kind of a jaundiced view of events, didn’t you, Matty?” Stick asks. He sounds amused. Matt wants to break his jaw.

Foggy somehow, marvelously, gets even _angrier_. “I can draw my own conclusions when my best friend tells me some creepy asshole used to beat on him when he was ten, thanks,” Foggy says. “Now get the fuck out of Matt’s apartment before I call the cops on your predator ass, not to mention check the statute of limitations on _child abuse_.”

“Foggy.” Matt puts a hand on Foggy’s arm to stop him from actually dialing his phone. “Go home.”

Foggy stiffens. “ _What?_ Matt, he’s…”

“I know,” Matt says. “I can handle him. What I can’t do is handle him while worrying about you.” He tries to tune out Stick’s amused snort, and slides his hand up Foggy’s arm to grip his shoulder. He knows he’s not really looking Foggy in the eye, but pointing his face towards the sound of Foggy’s breathing and looking earnest has worked wonders in the past. “I promise not to do anything stupid.”

It is probably a sign of something that both Foggy and Stick snort at that. Matt ignores it.

“I’ll call you when he’s gone. _Please_ , Foggy.” He makes himself smile. “If I deck him I’ll tell you all about it so you can gloat.”

Foggy pauses, then sighs, a rattling exhale that ruffles Matt’s bangs. “Fine. But I will have both Cla - uh, Hottie McBurnerphone and, uh, our cop friend on standby. Understand?” That last is directed at Stick, who chuckles.

“Good boy,” Stick says. “Now go. Heel.”

Foggy tenses under Matt’s hand and Matt gives him a squeeze, then lets him go. After a moment in which Foggy is most likely glaring daggers at Stick, he leaves, and they both listen to his footsteps recede down the stairs.

“Say what you’re here to say and get out,” Matt says the minute the front door shuts behind Foggy.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Stick asks instead.

“Quite a bit, but I’m sure a therapist could have fun picking out how much of it is your fault,” Matt replies, pushing past him into the apartment. “You don’t get a beer this time, by the way.”

“I already drank two.” Stick shakes his head. “No attachments, Matty, remember? And to _that_ guy?”

_That guy_ is the best thing that’s ever happened to Matt, a blessing he will never deserve, but that’s not for Stick to know. As if Stick could ever understand. “Even warriors need a day job,” he says instead. “The firm pays the bills.”

“I’m not talking about your little play office,” Stick says. “Hell, I don’t give a shit if you let him stick it to you ten times a day.”

Matt huffs an annoyed noise. Plenty of people have assumed he and Foggy are more than friends, but never anyone who can smell exactly how many sexual partners _aren’t_ lingering on Matt’s sheets. “We’re just friends.”

“Bullshit,” Stick says flatly. “Your heart sounds like a fucking teenybopper at a boy band concert when you’re around him. Partnering with some chubby patsy as a cover is one thing, but you weren’t supposed to fall in _love_ with him, dumbass.”

Matt chokes on empty air. People have assumed...but Stick can hear his _heart_. Stick _knows_. “...What?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. You didn’t know?”

“I’m...I’m not.” In love with Foggy. _In love with Foggy._

Matt sits down hard on the couch.

“Fuck it all to hell.” Stick heads for the kitchen. “I’m getting another beer.”

 

[2]

He promised to call. He _has_ to call.

Foggy picks up halfway through the first ring. “Are you okay?”

Matt never listens to his own heartbeat. Now that he is, he can hear the way it picks up at the concern in Foggy’s voice. “I’m fine, Foggy.” He’s a goddamn _disaster_ , but not because of Stick. Not this time, at least.

“Actually fine, or Matt fine?”

Matt’s laugh sounds tired even to him. “What is ‘Matt fine?’”

“Putting on your brave little soldier voice and insisting you don’t need to go to the hospital even though you left a kidney on a fire escape somewhere.”

“Well, I do have two,” Matt points out.

“You are a lunatic.” Foggy sounds entirely fond. Matt is in so much trouble. “Seriously, how badly are you bleeding?”

“I’m not,” Matt assures him. “Seriously, Foggy, nothing happened. We talked. I told him he was an asshole. He left.” He leaves out the part where Stick yanked Matt’s sturdiest rug out from under him.

“That’s it? No punches thrown? You just _talked?_ ”

“Briefly, but yeah.” The strange thing is that Stick did genuinely just seem to want to check up on him. No mission, no training, no fighting. Just telling Matt how much of an idiot he was for falling in love, and then how much of an idiot he was for not realizing.

Foggy’s voice goes soft. “So how badly are you bleeding?”

Matt closes his eyes to force back the sudden prickle of tears. It’s stupid. He’s not even _sad_. “I’m okay, Foggy, really.”

“You’d better be, for his sake,” Foggy says. “I may not be a ninja master but I am pretty sure I can come up with about fifty-seven different reasons to sue his ass.” His voice goes soft again. “You want me to come over?”

Yes. He wants Foggy to come over so that Matt can wrap Foggy’s righteous fury on Matt’s behalf around him like a blanket. He wants Foggy to come over and talk nonsense at him until he forgets how much it still hurts to think about Stick. He wants Foggy to come over so that he can fill Matt’s apartment with his heartbeat, steady as a metronome.

“No.” _Yes._ “It’s late.” _Please._ “I’ll see you tomorrow at the office.” _I don’t know what to do with this._

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Matt takes his glasses off, fidgets with them. He knows it’s a tell, but Foggy’s not there to see.

“Okay.” He hears a slight catch in Foggy’s breath, distant and muffled over the phone line. “Hey - whatever that douchebag told you, you know he’s wrong, right? He’s a lying, manipulative asshole, and he never deserved your trust.” Foggy breathes in, steady. “You’re worth so much more than him, Matty.”

Matt’s glasses let out an agonized creak as he squeezes the frames too tightly, and he forces himself to open his fingers. “Yeah,” he says again. “Good night, Foggy.”

“Good night, Matt.”

 

[3]

The problem is, Stick’s _not_ wrong - not about this.

Matt’s not _totally_ oblivious. He knows that his friendship with Foggy has always been a little more intimate than friendships between men usually are; a little more affectionate, a little closer. He knows that Foggy means more to him than anyone on the planet. He knows that neither of them are straight.

He’s not sure that _Foggy_ knows that Matt’s not straight, actually, but it wasn’t like Matt was actively trying to keep it a secret.

Except maybe he was, because he _also_ knows that Foggy was attracted to him, back when they first met, and it just seemed easier, maybe, to keep Foggy from thinking that anything was possible between them. It wasn’t that Matt didn’t _like_ Foggy, but he wasn’t _interested_ in Foggy, and if never mentioning that he liked boys too kept his roommate from ever making an unwanted pass at him, well…

By the time Matt thought that maybe that pass wouldn’t be so unwanted after all, two years had passed, and Foggy’s heart had long since stopped racing when he saw Matt.

Which was fine. Foggy’s friendship was more important than one of Matt’s three-week _not_ -relationships. It was for the best, really, that nothing had ever happened between them. Even if Matt had a little, tiny, barely-worth-mentioning crush. _Just_ a crush.

Or maybe Matt had just gotten so good at lying to everyone else that he’d managed to do it to himself as well.

He spends a long time just sitting on the couch after he hangs up, heels of his hands ground into his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, you’re a fucking mess,” Stick had said before he left, and he wasn’t wrong about that, either.

Matt’s not ten years old anymore. He knows Stick’s word isn’t gospel. He’s a bitter old man who kills _children_. He shouldn’t know anything about love.

But apparently he does. Because oh God, does Matt love Foggy.

“You need to cut him loose,” Stick had also said. “The no attachments thing isn’t some Star Wars jedi bullshit. Someone soft like that? He’ll slow you down. He’ll get you killed. Or you’ll get _him_ killed.”

“No, I won’t,” Matt said, hands tensing into fists. He had no expectations of living to a ripe old age himself, but Foggy’s death was unacceptable. He wouldn’t permit it.

“Fine. Be stupid. What do I care?” Stick said. He finished the beer and left the empty bottle on the coffee table - the coffee table Foggy had helped Matt pick out after Stick and Matt had smashed the last one. “But you were meant for something _important_ , Matty. Not pining after some no-name lawyer like a pussy.”

And he was gone, leaving Matt to try to figure this mess out.

He’s no closer to answers after he talks to Foggy. He can’t _tell_ Foggy. Foggy just loves him like a friend, or maybe even a brother - he’s said Matt’s family enough times for that to be true. What earthly good would Matt confessing do? At best, nothing would change; at worst, it’d drive Foggy away.

That’s clearly what Stick wants Matt to do - drive Foggy away - but he won’t. He _can’t_. He can keep Foggy safe much better by his side, anyway. And the thought of trying to get through the darkness of his days without Foggy...

Matt doesn’t think he’s a selfish person, but he’s keeping this for himself.

So that’s it, then. All he has to do is keep an eye out for Stick until he’s sure he’s left New York, and never, ever tell Foggy how he feels.

He can do this.

 

[4]

He smells it before he opens the office door the next morning. Oh, no.

“Morning, buddy!” Foggy says brightly. “Thought you might be feeling a little peaked today, so I picked up coffee from Kahve. Not that Karen’s coffee isn’t a delicious elixir in its own right, of course,” he adds, turning to look at her.

Karen snorts. “Last week you said my coffee tasted like it had been brewed through a hobo’s underwear.”

“And I’m sure some people like it that way.” He turns back to Matt. “At your one o’ clock. Right hand.”

Matt holds out his hand and lets Foggy put the warm paper cup in it. It’s the blend Matt likes best, with just enough sugar. Kahve is totally out of Foggy’s way, but he went there anyway, because he thought Matt might be sad.

Matt is screwed.

“Thanks, Foggy,” he manages. Coffee has a strong enough smell that he _almost_ can’t detect Foggy’s scent lingering on the cup where he held it.

“Why does Matt need special coffee today?” Karen asks.

“Hey, you got special coffee too,” Foggy points out.

“Yes, and thank you, but seriously, what’s going on?” Her voice is concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s, uh...family stuff,” Foggy says quickly, and Matt hopes Karen can’t tell that he’s closing his eyes wearily behind his glasses.

“Family stuff,” Karen repeats. “ _Matt._ Had _family_ stuff.”

"Uh..."

“Orphanage paperwork,” Matt interjects. “Complicated, frustrating, not worth boring you with. But yes - ” He hefts the cup in his hand. “ - I needed this today. Thanks again, Foggy.”

He never knows for _sure_ when Foggy’s smiling, but there’s a warm tone to his voice sometimes that Matt likes to imagine corresponds to a smile. Foggy reaches out and pats his non-coffee-holding arm. “Anytime, buddy.”

His heartbeat is absolutely steady, and Matt knows it’s because it’s just an expression, but it’s also _true_. Foggy’s brought him enough coffee and soup and bandages and audio tracks to prove it. Anything Matt needs, Foggy will bring him if he asks.

What _else_ could he ask for, he wonders?

He realizes he’s swaying towards Foggy and takes a hasty step back, out of reach. "Well," he says. "Right. I should. We have a lot of work to do today, so I should. Just." He's not sure how to finish that, so he clamps his mouth shut and makes a beeline for his office instead.

The silence from Karen and Foggy means they're _definitely_ looking at either him or each other in bemusement. "Orphanage paperwork, huh?" Karen asks.

Foggy laughs nervously and goes into his own office. Karen sighs.

Matt manages to busy himself with work for the next hour or so and resolutely doesn’t think about it, except for every time he picks up his coffee cup to take a sip, which happens every two minutes even after it’s empty. This works until he hears Foggy sigh, hears the creak of his chair as he stands, and then his footsteps making their way to Matt’s office.

“Hey.”

Matt doesn’t look up until Foggy’s in the doorframe, even though they both know he heard him coming. Karen’s stepped out on an errand, so they’re alone.

Matt takes his earbud out and surreptitiously wipes his sweaty palms on his thighs under the desk. "Hey."

Foggy cocks his head at Matt. "Are you sure you’re okay? You seem kinda...off.”

“I’m fine. Just busy.”

“We have one client, and he’s contesting a parking ticket.”

Matt doesn’t say anything. Foggy sighs and walks further into Matt’s office. He smells like coffee and a breakfast sandwich from the bodega on the corner and the shampoo he’s used every day since they were nineteen. He smells like _home_.

“Listen, you don’t have to talk about Stick if you don’t want to, but...maybe it would help?” he suggests. “I mean, I don’t know. I don’t have much experience with the kind of emotional baggage a deadbeat ninja guru leaves behind, but I’m here if you want to get drunk and cry over _The Karate Kid_ tonight. Even the remake.”

Foggy is the last person Matt can talk to about this. “It’s really okay, Foggy. I said all I need to say to him the last time he was here.”

Foggy nods. “Right. Sure.” He crosses the room and leans on Matt’s desk, half sitting on it. Matt pushes his chair back hastily. Foggy’s too close. “You know what’s really bothering me? It’s stupid, but…”

“What?” Oh God, does he know, somehow? Does he suspect?

Foggy is quiet for a moment. Well, not exactly _quiet_ \- he doesn’t speak, but he drums his fingers on his knee, and his heartbeat is loud in Matt’s ears. “He called you Matty,” he said finally. “I’ve never heard anyone else call you that.”

“...Oh.”

“I never thought - do you want me to not call you that anymore?” Foggy says. His heart is racing like he’s nervous. “I mean, you never said anything, but, you know, if it’s bringing up bad associations or something - ”

“No!” Matt says too quickly. "No, it's...it's fine. It's good." That sounds weird. "I like it when you call me Matty." Oh God, he can hear it in his own voice now; the neediness, the _yearning_. It's embarrassing. How did he not know? How does _everyone_ not know?

"Oh," Foggy says. He sounds a little choked and his temperature's picked up. Probably because this conversation's so uncomfortable. "Well. Good."

Matt doesn't say anything. He doesn't know _what_ to say, what won't be too damning.

"Matt," Foggy starts, and there's too much affection in his voice. Matt can't bear it.

"I should really finish up here," he says, picking up his earbud.

"Oh," Foggy says, and now he sounds hurt. Matt bites the inside of his lip, _hard_. "Yeah. Okay. I'll just...yeah."

He gets up, leaves. Goes into his own office.

Matt closes his eyes and drinks in the scent of Foggy lingering on his desk.

 

[5]

Among the many things Stick is wrong about is his assessment of Foggy. Foggy's not Matt's guide dog.

No, it's Matt who's the dog, half feral and poorly trained, hunched and snarling in a circle around Foggy. Waiting steadfastly at his master's feet, sent into raptures by every carelessly-dropped crumb of affection. Bereft every time Foggy leaves, even if Matt's the one who chased him away.

He avoids Foggy all day and shakes off his suggestions that they grab dinner or a drink after work. He knows Foggy’s suspicious, probably that he’s going to meet Stick, but he can’t deny it without telling him in private where Karen can’t hear, and he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to be alone with Foggy. At least, not until he figures out how to deal with this.

He does suit up once the sun’s gone down, but he can’t catch a trace of Stick anywhere. He’s not naive enough to think that Stick’s left the city, but he’s gone to ground. Matt puts down two muggers and a burglar and is left to prowl the empty streets until the shifting temperature tells him that sunrise is coming.

“You look like hell,” Foggy says when he slinks into the office on two hours of sleep and dives into a cup of Karen’s coffee. He doesn’t even care about the taste.

“Thanks, Foggy, I can always count on you to make me feel pretty,” he says automatically, then bites his lip. Did that sound flirtatious? It’s instinct to banter and he’s tired, but he needs to rein that in. He’ll give himself away.

“Don’t worry, your perfect bone structure is still intact,” Foggy says. Matt suspects he’s rolling his eyes. “Rough night?”

Karen is listening. “Couldn’t sleep,” Matt says, and goes into his office.

He shuts the door to keep Foggy from following.

There’s no Stick that night either, or the next. On the fourth day of little sleep and aggressively avoiding Foggy, Foggy corners Matt in his office.

“Okay, what the hell are you doing, Matt?” he demands.

“I’m reading the Liu brief,” Matt says, holding up the bound Braille pages.

“Cut the crap, you know that’s not what I mean,” Foggy says. “You won’t talk to me, you look like you haven’t slept in a week, and you clearly let someone play T-ball with your face last night.”

Matt touches the bruise on his temple and tries not to wince visibly. It’s a good guess - it _was_ a baseball bat, but just a glancing blow. It barely even dazed him. He just hadn’t ducked quite fast enough - too tired, probably. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

Because he’s forgotten how to be around Foggy without giving away the fact that he wants to crawl into Foggy’s arms and stay there for at least a week. Or maybe a lifetime. “I’m not.”

“Jesus, Matt. Can’t you even respect my intelligence enough to tell me a _good_ lie?” Matt cringes at that, and Foggy sighs. “Look, just _tell_ me what Stick’s gotten you into, okay? Maybe we can figure out some way to handle it together.”

“He hasn’t gotten me into anything,” Matt insists. Foggy snorts. “I mean it! I haven’t even seen him since that night. And I’ve been looking.” He hears the intake of breath as Foggy starts to say something. “You know what I mean.”

“So what’s the problem, then?” Foggy asks. “You told the old goat to get out of your city, and he got. End of story.”

“He’s not gone. He’s not...I can just tell. He’s out there,” Matt says.

“So, what, you’re just going to go without sleep until you find him?” Foggy asks. “You don’t even know that he’s still in Hell’s Kitchen. He could be anywhere in the city.” He shakes his head. “Look, I know Stick did a number on you, but I feel like this isn’t just about making sure he’s not causing trouble. What did he do that’s got you so worked up?”

“Nothing,” Matt says. It’s not convincing, and they both know it.

“Fine,” Foggy says after a moment. “Well, when you decide you feel like telling me the truth, you know where to find me.”

He walks out of Matt’s office. Foggy’s the one who’s good with people, but even Matt can tell that Foggy’s not really angry - he’s hurt. Hurt that Matt won’t confide in him, and God, Matt wishes he could, but he can’t tell Foggy about this. Not ever. He’ll have to bank on Foggy’s incredible capacity for forgiveness one last time.

Who is he kidding? He is what he is. There’ll never be a last time he’ll be begging Foggy’s forgiveness.

He goes out again that night and beats his knuckles raw on the city. It doesn’t help.

Things go quiet before he’s ready for them to; no screams on the wind, no sirens, no alarms wailing. He moves across the rooftops to a better vantage point, listening for someone who needs him. He’s been craning his head into the relative silence for nearly five minutes when he realizes where he is, where he’s coincidentally ended up.

...Except it wasn’t a coincidence, was it? He knows every building in Hell’s Kitchen. He’d never land on this one by mistake.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he makes his way down the fire escape to the right floor. A sighted person might never be able to pick out the correct window from the street, but for Matt it’s as easy as following a voice calling his name.

Foggy’s heartbeat. Foggy’s window.

He’s asleep. That’s good. It’s nearly three a.m. He still snores a little, just like he did in college, and the familiar sound blindsides Matt a little, leaves him stumbling over the yawning gulf of _need_ it opens up.

Stick was right. He’s pathetic. He’s desperate, and sad, and weak. He needs to leave, to get some sleep or at least do some good for someone. Not just stand here like a dog locked out for the night, shivering and loyal.

He doesn’t make it home until dawn.

 

[6]

He is tired, is his only excuse. He is tired, because Foggy’s still hurt and angry, and because he still can’t find Stick, and because he’s spent three nights in a row lingering on Foggy’s fire escape when he can’t find anyone to hit.

That’s the only thing that lets the cut-rate muscle from O’Leary’s chop shop get the drop on him. He'd miscounted heartbeats, somehow; there are three more than he thought. Seven is a few too many opponents for even _him_ to be dumb enough to take on singlehandedly.

At least, he thinks ruefully as he tries to maneuver his back to a wall, they don't seem to be armed with the _weapons_ they deal out of that chop shop.

He knocks a tooth out of the nearest mouth with a billy club and twists to avoid a kick that'd have him pissing blood if it landed right. They're cutting off the exit, and it's not in Matt's nature to run anyway.

"Motherfucking devil piece of shit," one of them snarls. "You're dead, you hear me? You're fucking dead!"

He doesn't dodge fast enough to avoid the next punch, and now he knows why he smelled brass earlier - the knuckles leave his head ringing and his radar sense scattered. Another punch to his gut knocks the breath out of him, and then a kick to his knee sends him crashing to the dirty floor. This is it, then, he thinks as he tries to roll away from them, as he tries and fails to get to his feet. No great sacrifice, just beaten to death by idiots. He can't even die in a way that does any good to anyone, and as a steel-toed boot connects with his jaw he can only hope that Foggy doesn't find out about it through the news, that someone breaks it to him gently.

Then he hears it. A familiar, rhythmic tapping.

There are still seven of them, but there's a reason Stick was Matt's sensei. He scatters them like leaves, his cane spinning like a thresher, breaking fingers and teeth. Matt pushes himself to his feet and drops two opponents himself, but it's barely necessary. The rest are unconscious on the ground by the time he's done.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, I didn't kill any of them," Stick says. His voice sounds dull and distant. Matt probably has a concussion.

"I know," Matt says. He's not that far gone that he can't count the heartbeats - properly, this time.

"Good, because you sure as hell don't know anything else, you dumb little shit," Stick says. " _This_ is what you choose? This is your great calling? Letting a bunch of chi-less illiterates kick your face in in a warehouse?" He bends to wipe blood off his cane on one of said illiterate's backs. "Behold the superhero."

"I didn't exactly plan for it to go down this way," Matt says. It hurts to talk.

"Because you've always been so great with plans." Stick drops the mocking tone, which actually startles Matt. "This life you've chosen? This fake domesticity with that sponge cake boyfriend of yours? It's killing you. You're a weapon, Matty, and you can't afford to let your edge get dulled."

He puts on his glasses, a helpless old blind man again. "You want to go out in a blaze of glory like your old man? Fine. I think it's a waste, but hell, it'll be your funeral. But at least let me point your stupid, suicidal ass in a direction where it'll do some good."

And he taps his way out of the warehouse, leaving Matt to hobble his way home alone.

 

[7]

He stops by Claire's. There's little she can do besides offer painkillers they both know he won't take, but at least she can check him over and venture an exhausted, worried guess - hope - that his internal injuries aren't _too_ bad.

He takes himself home, where he doesn't so much sleep as simply allow himself to cease being conscious. Wakes at nine to text Karen that he's taking a sick day - Karen, because Foggy will ask follow-up questions. Drops out again.

It's late afternoon when he wakes for real. He feels steadier but hollow, like something's been stripped away inside.

He's not suicidal. At least, he doesn't think he is. Sure, he's thought about it - who hasn't? - and there have been times he's been so beaten down he thinks it would be easier to just. Stop.

Not just physically. He thinks of those days when he and Foggy weren't talking, when he wasn't sure they would ever talk again.

No, he's never wanted to die. But sometimes being alive seems like more than he can bear.

Stick is right that he'll get himself killed like this, though. So he needs to either cut Foggy out of his life entirely, like Stick wants, or figure out a way to be around him like they were before. Life without Foggy isn't an option, so it'll have to be door number two. He loved Foggy for years without telling him, after all; just because he's conscious of it now shouldn't change anything.

Besides, he thinks guiltily, it's not like he doesn't have plenty of practice lying to Foggy.

He eats. He tries and fails to meditate. He finds himself unable to sleep after sundown, which isn't a surprise considering how late he woke up.

He can't patrol. He knows that. He's too injured.

But he can go to Foggy's.

One last time, he tells himself. Before he puts the heartsick puppy act away for good. One last night where he can admit to himself what he really wants.

He goes slow over the roofs. Time and sleep helped, but he's still hurting - and he needs to stay out of sight. Too many people would take a shot at Daredevil if they saw him, and he's not up for a fight right now.

He's a block away when he hears Foggy's heartbeat. He's home, he's awake, and from the speed of his heart he's not entirely calm. Matt doesn't think to worry until he gets close enough to recognize the other heartbeat in Foggy's apartment.

_Stick._

Matt takes off running. He forgets to stay out of sight, forgets about his injuries, forgets everything except that he needs to _get to Foggy_ before Stick hurts him.

He leaps across to Foggy's roof, shoots down the fire escape. The window's open - probably how Stick got in - and he hurtles through. Slams into Stick as Stick turns to face him.

"Matt!" Foggy says, and then Matt has to focus on Stick. Stick frees himself with a knee to Matt's stomach and spins to kick him in the chest. Matt jumps back, moves in again and goes for the throat. Blocks. Parries. Spins. Stick's more experienced and not injured, but Matt won't let him win. Matt's fighting for something more here.

" _Matt!_ " Foggy shouts again as Stick hurls Matt into the arm of the couch, right on his bruised ribs. Matt gets back up, charges again, blacks Stick's eye with an elbow strike. Stick moves like fucking _smoke_ , though, and suddenly he's got an arm locked across Matt's throat, choking him, and Matt's scrabbling at his face, he can't _breathe_ and he needs to save Foggy, he needs to -

"STOP IT!" Foggy hollers, loud enough to startle them both. "You're not going to kill Matt, you crusty old asshole, and Matt, you're not going to kill _anyone_ , so if you two need to destroy another living room I'd prefer that it not be mine."

Stick...Stick actually _laughs_.

And releases Matt, who immediately moves to stand between them. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, angling his head back a little so that Foggy knows Matt’s talking to him.

“Relax, kid,” Stick says. “Nelson and I were just overdue for a talk.”

Matt’s never been able to tell when Stick’s lying. “Foggy?”

“I’m fine, Matt,” Foggy says. “And you’ve said your piece, Crypt Keeper, so get the hell out of my apartment before I figure out a way to call the Avengers on your sleazy ninja ass.”

“Fine,” Stick says. “But think about what I said.”

“Believe me, I will,” Foggy says, which startles Matt. What the hell could Stick say to him that Foggy would even consider?

Stick has to move past Foggy to get to the door, and Matt keeps himself between them the whole time. “Down, boy,” Stick says, and Matt wishes it didn’t make him want to _actually_ growl. “See you around.”

It’s a bad joke on a number of levels, but whether it’s also a threat or just a promise, Matt can’t be sure.

Stick taps his way out the door. Foggy lets out a tremendous sigh and flops down on his couch. “Well,” he says. “This has been a night. Matt, what the - ”

Matt holds up a warning hand. “He’s still in range. Just...wait.”

They do, Foggy tapping an impatient hand on his knee until Matt can’t hear Stick anymore. He’s pretty sure his own senses are actually _better_ than Stick’s, which means they can talk freely. “Okay. He’s gone.”

“Great. Do you have any more fun acquaintances from your past who might break into my apartment and threaten me? Ex-girlfriends? Childhood bullies? A sinister pediatrician, perhaps?”

Foggy’s trying too hard for jovial; there’s a tremor in his voice, and he’s sweating. Matt moves in to comfort, catches himself, and takes an awkward seat as far away from Foggy on the couch as he can get. “Foggy, I’m _so sorry_. I had no idea he’d come after you.” Although he should have expected it, really. All this time avoiding Foggy, and he should have been glued to his side.

“Obviously.” Foggy makes an annoyed noise. “Could you take off the mask?”

Matt does - and then regrets it at Foggy’s sharp intake of breath. “Jesus, Matt,” he says. “What happened this time?”

“I was careless. I let myself get outnumbered,” Matt admits. He pauses, then adds: “Stick helped me out.”

Foggy scrubs a hand over his face. “That...makes sense, actually,” he says, and why, why does that make sense to him, what did Stick say? “How bad is the rest of it?”

Matt shrugs one shoulder. “Claire says it’s mostly just bruising. It’s ugly, but it’ll heal.” His fingers tighten on the mask, find the edges of it. “You said Stick threatened you.”

“Well, sort of,” Foggy hedges. “It was more ‘dire warnings full of sturm and drang’ than promising to pull of my fingernails or anything like that.”

“What did he _say?_ ” Matt’s proud of how calm his voice is, in that he’s not actively screaming right now.

“Oh, you know. I’m gonna get you killed, _you’re_ gonna get _me_ killed...lotta inadvertent death in our future, apparently. I am starting to see why you’re such a downer.”

“Foggy, I would never…” Matt starts, and Foggy cuts him off.

“I know,” he says. “I told him that the guy who keeps telling you to watch your injuries and actually rest once in a while is a hell of a lot less likely to get you killed than the guy who keeps trying to recruit you for his holy ninja war. And that you...” He drops the forced too-jovial tone. “You would never let anything happen to me.”

There’s too much faith in his voice. It’s true, but Matt still doesn’t deserve it.

“I wouldn’t,” he says. “Foggy, I would _die_ first.”

Foggy lets out a short, laughter-adjacent sound. “Well, that’s sort of missing the point of _neither_ of us dying, isn’t it? Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but howsabout we grow old together like we planned?”

_Grow old together._ Matt knows Foggy doesn’t mean it like it sounds, but he still has to swallow past the lump in his throat before he answers. “I’ll try,” he says.

“You had better.” Foggy slides his palms over his knees. He’s still jumpy, still radiating anxiety, and Matt thinks it’s just because Stick’s presence rattled him until he says, “He told me something else, too.”

Matt goes still. “...He did?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, tilting his head. “Something about you being madly in love with me? Apparently there’s been pining, he was very emphatic about how pathetic all the pining was...”

For the second time that night Matt can’t breathe, he’s _choking_ , this is it, he’s ruined everything and Foggy’s going to tell him that he can’t handle it, that they can’t be friends anymore and then Matt will be _alone_ \- 

“Matt. Matty!” Foggy. Foggy’s moved closer and his hands are on Matt’s face. “Come on, buddy, breathe. Focus on me, okay?”

“ _Foggy_ ,” Matt manages, and even to his own ears he’s never sounded so miserable.

“I’m sorry, bud. I shouldn’t have done it like that.” Foggy kisses his temple. “I just, you know, I was pretty sure it was Stick talking out of his wizened old ass until, uh. That.”

Oh, wonderful, it wasn’t Stick, Matt gave _himself_ away...but Foggy’s lips are on his forehead now, his fingers petting Matt’s hair, and that, at the very least, doesn’t seem like Foggy’s about to end their friendship and kick Matt out of his apartment.

“Matt, you dumbass,” Foggy says, very gently. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know,” Matt admits very quietly. “I didn’t know until Stick...he listened to my heart when I was with you and…” Foggy is laughing, and Matt collects himself enough to scowl. “What?”

“Turnabout is fair play, Murdock,” Foggy says. He’s got the smile sound in his voice and his hands are still on Matt’s face, and Matt doesn’t want to jinx it, but he thinks this might be something very good. “After all these years of listening to _my_ heart.”

“I don’t...what do you mean?” Matt asks.

“ _Matt._ ” Foggy tilts his chin up. “You were _valedictorian_ in undergrad. You can smell _pheromones_. Quit being a dope.”

He kisses Matt, then, and Matt has to agree: he’s been a dope, and a dumbass, and anything else Foggy wants to call him. Foggy will have to do it later, though, because Matt is too busy kissing him back to let him say anything.

When Foggy pulls back, his pulse is very fast and his breathing is ragged. “So,” he says in what’s clearly supposed to be a conversational tone, and Matt can’t help grinning at how badly he misses the mark, “just so we’re on the same page here: you didn’t know you were in love with me.”

Matt shakes his head.

“And you didn’t know that _I_ was in love with _you_ ,” Foggy goes on.

Matt’s grin goes wider. “What was that last part?” he asks. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

“Shut up, you have super hearing, yes you did,” Foggy says, but he kisses Matt again so he can’t be _too_ annoyed.

One of the things the accident bequeathed Matt with was an extremely precise internal clock. Still, he’s not sure how much later it is when they bother to speak again. His gloves and boots are off, though, and Foggy’s shirt is a lot less buttoned than it was when they started.

“I feel like this wasn’t the conclusion Stick was hoping we’d reach,” Foggy says. His voice is low and rough and rumbles through Matt, sprawled out on the couch as they are. Matt could really get used to this.

“Probably not,” Matt agrees, fingers tracing the edge of the bruise he’s sucked into the curve of Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy shivers and Matt grins.

“Excellent. Screw that guy,” Foggy says. “I think he thought I’d make a noble sacrifice and let you go to fight the good fight, unhampered by foolish human emotions. I’m _way_ too selfish for that.”

Matt tucks his head into the curve of Foggy’s shoulder. Foggy is much more comfortable to lie on than the couch. “You’re the least selfish person I know.”

“That’s a lie, you know Claire,” Foggy says.

There’s a catch in his voice, and Matt frowns against Foggy’s collarbone. “But you know he’s wrong, right? About…” He bites his lip and catches a lock of Foggy’s hair between his fingers, just to have something to do with his hands. “Foggy, you’re the _reason_ I can fight the good fight.”

“Um, I think the reason is your extensive knowledge of how to injure people while backflipping,” Foggy says.

“No, I mean…” Matt searches for the words. “It’s...hard, being...doing what I do, and I don’t...I don’t think I could do it if I didn’t have you there. Stick said the same thing to me, that I had to cut you loose, but he doesn’t understand.” Stick has no idea what it means to run towards someone else's open arms, and not away. Matt had almost forgotten himself.

He pushes his face further into Foggy’s shoulder, until his voice is a little muffled. He thinks his cheeks are red. “You’re what keeps me going when I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, Matt,” Foggy breathes, and presses his lips to the top of Matt’s head. There’s salt in the air, but Matt doesn’t think the tears are a bad thing this time.

After that Foggy just pets his hair for a while. It’s soothing, and Matt’s nearly asleep when Foggy pokes him in the side. “Hey, as much as I’m grateful that you’re wearing body armor now, it’s heavy. And...weirdly squeaky.”

Matt tilts his head up so Foggy can see his leer. “Why, Mr. Nelson, are you suggesting I disrobe?”

“Did you or did you not say you nearly got yourself killed last night and you’re all beaten up?” Foggy asks sternly.

“I can - ”

“ _Matthew_.” Foggy gently tugs a lock of Matt’s hair and Matt sighs, conceding. “Quit pouting at me. I’ll rustle up a pair of sweatpants for you and order a pizza. You can fulfill all my feverish college fantasies when you _haven’t_ just sprained your gall bladder and broken all your toes.”

Matt obediently stands up. It hurts to move, so Foggy’s probably right, as disappointing as that is. “ _All_ of your fantasies? Because I remember you getting very drunk and telling me about a sex dream you had about Dean Pritchard.”

“Hey, Dean Pritchard was a handsome woman in her day,” Foggy says, standing up and heading for the bedroom. “Also, you were never supposed to speak of that again.”

“Sorry,” Matt says. He peels off the top of his suit as he listens to Foggy rummaging through his dresser, then starts working on the pants.

Foggy’s heartbeat speeds up when he comes back out and finds Matt half naked in his living room. “Well, now I don’t know if I’m aroused or angry at you for being dumb enough to get yourself that bruised up.”

Matt gives him a sly grin. “You could be angry at how arousing you find me?”

“Nice try, Murdock.” Foggy tosses the sweatpants at him. “Go on, hide your shame. I gotta call the pizza place.”

Matt pulls on the sweatpants and settles back down on the couch, listening to Foggy order and then fuss around, tidying up the apartment. His heartbeat is steady and he smells like home and Matt’s not at all ready to trust that this happiness is his to keep. But for now, he thinks, he’s not going to question it.

Foggy flops onto the couch next to him and leans into Matt. Matt combs his fingers through Foggy’s hair, enjoying the way it makes the clean familiar smell of it bloom in the air, and Foggy chuckles.

“What?” Matt asks.

“Just thinking,” Foggy says. “You don’t know where Stick lives, do you?”

Matt shakes his head. “I doubt he has a permanent address.”

“Hm. Pity,” Foggy says. “Now where am I going to send the thank you card?"

They're still laughing when the pizza shows up.


End file.
